The History of Polindor and Flostella With Other Poems. By I. H. [i.e. John Harington] The third Edition, Revised and much Enlarged |
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![]() | The History of Polindor and Flostella | ![]() |
Here, stoop'd for death, when, as some Dream did prove,
Amaz'd she started up, strong thoughts implying
Twas not Polindor's Corps. O you All-eying,
All-knowing Pow'rs, am I awake? (she cries)
Or are you pleased thus t'abuse mine eyes
With soothing, painted Vision? is not this
My Dear? Polindor? hah? such cordiall Bliss
Own poor Flostella? whence that Taf'ty-role,
Broad Ribbond, Faulchion then? my anguish'd Soul!
It is not he; torn heart, 'tis not Polind:
Ah! liv'st thou, breath'st thou yet? some gentler Wind,
Angel inform my doubts. O righteous heaven,
Fain would I now escape the Stroak, but even
For thy sweet sake: still doomfull threats of Fate.
Horrours inviron me (th' unhappy Brat
Cast out unto all Ill) Night, Death surround;
Whilst Lost to thee, to mine own Soul, and drown'd
In gulph of Sorrowes: O, fain Would I Live,
(My choycely esteem'd) since, those Heart wounds they give,
Thou't Bleed through them to death; my Tragedy
Must brooding cause thine, Both alas must Dye.
Amaz'd she started up, strong thoughts implying
Twas not Polindor's Corps. O you All-eying,
All-knowing Pow'rs, am I awake? (she cries)
Or are you pleased thus t'abuse mine eyes
With soothing, painted Vision? is not this
My Dear? Polindor? hah? such cordiall Bliss
Own poor Flostella? whence that Taf'ty-role,
Broad Ribbond, Faulchion then? my anguish'd Soul!
It is not he; torn heart, 'tis not Polind:
Ah! liv'st thou, breath'st thou yet? some gentler Wind,
Angel inform my doubts. O righteous heaven,
Fain would I now escape the Stroak, but even
For thy sweet sake: still doomfull threats of Fate.
Horrours inviron me (th' unhappy Brat
Cast out unto all Ill) Night, Death surround;
Whilst Lost to thee, to mine own Soul, and drown'd
In gulph of Sorrowes: O, fain Would I Live,
(My choycely esteem'd) since, those Heart wounds they give,
Thou't Bleed through them to death; my Tragedy
Must brooding cause thine, Both alas must Dye.
![]() | The History of Polindor and Flostella | ![]() |